Bruises, Cuts, and Scrapes
by bohogirl
Summary: Tom Collins hates hospitals...


** Title: Bruises, Cuts, and Scrapes  
Author: Jen  
Feedback: Adored and cherished  
Pairing: Angel/Collins  
Word Count: 1424  
Rating: PG-13  
Genre: Angsty  
Summary: Tom Collins hates hospitals  
Notes: Again, all errors are my own, written for lj speedrent challenge #13  
Special Thanks: My roommate for putting up with me screaming randomly while typing this when my computer would go spastic. and my darling electrakitty 74 for looking it over!  
Spoilers: No, well, unless you've never seen or heard of Rent before  
Warnings: Death talk  
Disclaimer: Rent is Jonathan Larson's and his family's. Not mine.**

Tom Collins hated hospitals. He hated how they smelled like a disgusting mixture of cleaning products, antiseptic, medicine, and sterile sheets.

He'd been admitted to the hospital at age seven for appendicitis. The five days he spent lying on those cold white sheets caused him to avoid hospitals like the plague. He did everything he could to insure he would never set foot in a hospital again.

Unfortunately, he wasn't that lucky of a child. At twelve, he crashed his bike into a fence, cutting his leg badly enough his mother refused to let him simply clean it and cover it with a cartoon band aid. It took five nurses and one orderly to hold down the stubborn, prepubescent boy long enough to clean the wound and apply a bandage.

When he was fifteen, he ended up in the hospital again after getting into a fight at his high school; his right arm broken and a deep cut in his forehead. He'd had a run-in with a group of kids who decided to push around one of Tom's friends, calling him a queer and saying he needed to be taught. It wasn't the smartest thing Tom had done, taking on four other guys on his own, but he had to stick up for his friend. He knew he would be labeled as Ricky's boyfriend when he got back into school, but he didn't care. His father, however, did, and pulled him out of the school, refusing to alloq him to speak to Ricky again.

At twenty, home from college on break, Tom found himself lying in a hospital bed yet again. He'd sat his parents down and told them exactly what he'd been wanting to tell them since he was thirteen. When he told his father that he was gay, Tom knew he was probably out of their lives for good, but he couldn't hide who he was anymore. Now he was in a hospital bed, staring up at a the dull, blank ceiling titles, his dark skin tender from the litany of bruises, cuts, and scraps his father had inflicted on him in his rage. He would go back to school and finish his degree even if he had to work every waking hour to pay tuition, but he would never see his family again. He wouldn't go by Tom anymore either or Thomas or Tommy. Those were their names, what his mother and father called him. As far as Tom Collins was concerned, he no longer had parents.

Years later, he found himself in a hospital again, barely listening as a doctor told him he was HIV positive and what he would have to do to protect those around him. He couldn't believe he would end his life lying in a hospital, dying of a disease that never let its victims have an ounce of dignity.

And now, here he was, waking up in a hospital bed again, that smell hitting his nostrils like a bullet from a gun, wishing he was anywhere else. Was he dying now? He had to be. The only reason an AIDS patient would be lying in a bed, machines beeping all around him, and friends sitting by his side was if he was dying.

"I don't wanna die here," he muttered.

Angel sat up from her spot by Collins' side. She reached out and took her lover's hand. "You're awake." She slowly ran her fingers up Collins' arm. "How do you feel?"

Collins groaned. "Like shit." He groaned a bit as he started to sit up.

"Don't, honey. You'll just hurt yourself even more," Angel said, gently pushing Collins' back against the bed. "You have to rest, baby. And soon enough, you'll be out of here."

"You mean dead, don't you?" Collins closed his eyes and turned away, not wanting to look into Angel's face, knowing he would soon have to leave his lover's life.

Angel chuckled softly as she sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers slowly running along Collins' forehead and over his hair. "Baby, you may look like death but you aren't dying."

Collins cracked an eye open and turned enough to met Angel's eyes. "I'm not?"

"No, you goof." Angel pressed her lips lightly to Collins' temple. "You don't remember what happened?" she whispered.

Collins shook his head, which sent waves of pain through his body. "No," he said, groaning. "But if this isn't dying, kill me know 'cause nothing can be worse then this."

Angel slapped Collins roughly in his chest. "Do _not_ joke about that, Thomas Bernard Collins." She glared down at her lover. "Do you have any idea what it was like for me to sit out in that cramped little space they call a waiting room, pacing back and forth, hoping when they came out they wouldn't say you were gone? It was one of the worst experiences of my life. Now you stop talking about killing and dying and death and...and...and just stop talking ok?"

Collins opened and closed his mouth a few times, staring up at Angel in awe. He was slightly taken aback by the use of his full name, something he used to hear all the time when he was in trouble as a young boy. He'd always been able to read Angel's emotions like a book, his lover's soft features easily bending to her mood. Usually those emotions were happy, excited, thrilled, content, loved, but now all he saw was fear, sadness, worry, and a small trace of anger. "I'm sorry, baby," he muttered. "I just hate hospitals. How'd I end up here anyway?"

"I thought I told you to stop talking?" Angel said, glaring down at Collins long enough to make the older man squirm again before smiling softly. "I wasn't serious." She sighed and put her arm around Collins' shoulders, resting her head against her lover's. "You, my wonderful, absentminded professor of a boyfriend, stepped right into the path of a truck backing up. Thankfully, someone shouted at the driver and didn't run you over too much. Just a few scrapes and a knock on the head. Nothing broken though your wrist might bother you for a while."

Collins groaned as he glanced down at his left wrist, done up in a small brace. "What the hell was I thinking? Was I drunk?"

Angel shrugged. "Maybe. I was back at the loft playing couple's therapist to the drama dykes. Roger's name, not mine. I was scared shitless. Luckily, Mark was there. He got me to change out into this." She gestured down at her tattered jeans and plain hooded sweatshirt, something she usually avoided wearing, save for when she went out drumming. "Said they'd probably let me in more easily than if I was, well..."

"As my Angel loves to be," Collins said, smiling. "I'm sorry I worried you, baby."

"Just don't do it again, ok? Promise me something, Tom."

This had to be important. Angel knew how much Collins hated being called Tom. She would only do it if she was deadly serious about something. "Anything, baby."

"Promise me that you won't die without me there to hold you and say good-bye?" Angel locked her eyes with Collins'. They both knew that one of them would have to watch the other die, but they'd never talked about it, wanting to think about living together, not dying together.

Collins thought for a few moments, not sure he wanted to make a death-bed promise. He wanted to promise they would never be apart but he knew that wouldn't happen. He wanted to assure Angel she wouldn't have to spend another day pacing in the waiting room, but he knew he couldn't do that. They would both have to admit that death was on the horizon for both of them, the curse of AIDS creeping closer and closer with each passing day. "Angel, baby, I wouldn't dream of going anywhere without saying good-bye. Just promise me the same thing, ok?"

Angel nodded before sliding down the bed and pressing her body against Collins' side. "Just one more thing, baby," she said quietly.

"Anything, Ang."

"Look where you're walking next time or I'm going to insist on holding your hand when you cross the street and put in bubble wrap."

Collins laughed, his eyes lightly up. "Deal, baby."

And for once, Tom Collins didn't mind hospitals too much, as long as Angel was by his side, making him smile and most of all, making him feel loved.


End file.
